dracoqueen22 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dracoqueen22) wrote2015-10-12 08:37 am
dracoqueen22) wrote2015-10-12 08:37 am
Entry tags:
[IDW] Marry Me - Chapter Ten
Universe: IDW, MTMTE
Characters this chapter: Minimus Ambus, Swerve, Exelons, Rodimus
Rated K+ for this chapter
Swerve and Minimus go to the party and push the limits of their physical contact agreement.
Commission Gift Fic for nothumanafterall.
Mood Music/Soundtrack - "Dance With Me Tonight," Olly Murs
He waited outside Swerve's door, trying not to fidget, when it occurred to him that he probably should have warned Swerve that he'd be arriving as Minimus. That would have been the polite thing to do.
But then the door was sliding open and it was too late. Swerve blinked a tad bit down at him, surprise written into the initial flare of his energy field. Blessedly, however, there was no immediate disinterest.
“This is different,” Swerve said before a grin immediately curved his lips. Some of the tension visibly erased from his frame. “Not that I mind or anything, but no armor?”
Minimus shook his head. “No. It came to the Exelon's attention that my legal name was Minimus. They want to see proof.” He offered an arm to Swerve. At least at this height, it would be easier to walk together. “Hopefully, it's not too off-putting.”
“Not at all.” Swerve linked his arm with Minimus', their elbows interlocking. This close, it was all the more obvious that Swerve was slightly taller than him, but also made of more mass. “I like you no matter what form you take.”
“I...” Minimus cycled his optics, his field flushing with surprise and warmth. That was not what he had expected Swerve to say. “Thank you.”
“It's just the truth.” Swerve shrugged and tilted his head toward the hallway. “Don't we have a party to get to?”
“That we do.” Arm in arm, Minimus led them down the hall, his spark doing flips of joy at the casual comment Swerve had made.
I like you no matter what form you take.
He'd despaired of ever hearing those words. Once he'd donned the Magnus Armor, Minimus was supposed to have ceased to exist. No one cared about him before; what should it matter after? And yet here he was, Minimus Ambus, arm in arm with Swerve, on their way to a celebration in honor of their upcoming nuptials. It was both surreal and uncomfortable.
He was still not used to being himself, being Minimus. He couldn't shake the feeling that others were staring, Exelon and Cybertronian alike. He fought down the niggling worries, held his helm up high, and escorted Swerve to the event the Exelons had arranged. It didn't matter that Swerve was taller than him now. Minimus had grown fond of placing his hand on Swerve's back and Swerve seemed to enjoy it as well.
There were less present than Minimus would have expected. It wasn't as formal as the prior event, but not as casual as the first either. There was dim lighting and shining decorations. There were light refreshments, tiny selections of goodies and teasers and teensy vials of flavored engex.
He saw no few familiar faces, including Perceptor once more, chatting it up with a few Exelons. Hopefully, he was getting closer to understanding their technology. Hopefully, after tonight, they would have all the answers they needed to save Rodimus and get the frag off the planet and Minimus could sit down with Swerve and truly talk.
The meaning of the human phrase 'fingers crossed' came to mind.
What Minimus noticed most of all was the band and the rather large, open dance floor. One that Rodimus was taking full advantage of and gathering no few admirers. He freely danced with anyone who came sashaying his direction and suddenly Minimus understood the purpose behind the design of Rodimus' hips.
Music and dancing. Primus help them all.
Minimus knew how to dance. He'd been formally trained. He simply wasn't very good at it. Previous partners claimed he was too stiff. That he didn't know how to relax into the beat. And perhaps they were right.
He'd given up after that. And as for Ultra Magnus? Well, the armor wasn't meant to dance. Ultra Magnus wasn't meant to be fun. He was meant to be the stern, law-abiding Autobot who served as an example to everyone.
“Minimus!”
He startled at the sound of his name being shouted over the sound of conversation and music.
Rodimus noticed them as though he had some kind of homing beacon keyed in to his second in command. He abandoned his dance partner with an apologetic smile. He pushed through the crowd, bouncing their direction, and Minimus did not fail to notice that Swerve flinched a little.
It was hard not to flinch when that much charisma came bounding toward you. Rodimus was a force to be reckoned with.
“About time you got here,” Rodimus was saying as he skidded to a stop in front of them, clasping them each on a shoulder. “The Exelon dignitaries have been asking about you. I've been stalling them by showing off my rad dance moves.”
“I guess we should be grateful then,” Minimus drawled, but the sarcasm was lost on Rodimus.
The co-captain beamed at both of them like a proud caretaker. “Well, I am that good. Come on. Let's go.”
He circled around the couple and planted his hands on their shoulders once again, steering them toward one of the walls and a visible group of Exelons. Swerve tensed further and Minimus made it a point to rub his back. He tried to project calm into his field.
“Do we have to?” Swerve mock-whispered.
Minimus managed a tight smile. “Unfortunately so.” Luckily, he recognized most of the Exelons. They were the same faces that continued to snoop around Magnus and Swerve as though determined to sniff out the lie. “It is part of the game.”
Rodimus' hand's squeezed their shoulders as though reminding them to behave properly. As if Minimus needed the reminder.
“Ladies, Gentlemen, whatever your preferred address, I've brought the happy couple,” Rodimus declared with a broad gesture before he all but shoved Swerve and Minimus toward them. “You know Swerve, of course, but the shorter one here is Minimus Ambus, the mech behind the armor.”
“We are pleased to make your acquaintance,” one of the Exelons said, her accent thicker than all the others. “Is it common for Cybertronians to wear an outer shell?”
Minimus patted Swerve's back soothingly as Rodimus vanished, no doubt back into the crowd to dance to his spark's content. And hopefully continue to provide a distraction. So long as he wasn't here accidentally stamping on their traditions.
“No,” Minimus answered with a forced, pleasant smile. “My position was unique. I fulfilled a role that required me to wear the armor. I am a special case.”
“How intriguing.”
“You don't mind that he is essentially a lie?”
Well, that was a rather rude and pointed question. Minimus' optics cycled wider in surprise. He would not have expected such discourtesy from the Exelons. Perhaps they were getting desperate.
Swerve cycled his vocalizer. “Magnus and Minimus are the same to me,” he said, and he gave Minimus a nervous smile, his lips trembling but his optics honest. “I don't care what frame he takes.”
“That's very sweet,” the tax advisor – Minimus certainly remembered her – said. “If only others could think the same. It is important to accept others for who they are.”
Agreement flickered through her compatriots.
“Which form will you take for the wedding?” another asked.
Minimus exchanged a glance with Swerve.
“Whichever makes you more comfortable,” Swerve said with a smile. Yet another perfect answer.
“I am, at spark, Minimus Ambus,” he answered and leaned against Swerve, relieved as Swerve leaned back into him. It felt like support. “And that is who I want to be when I promise my spark to Swerve.”
Judging by the way the Exelons looked at each other, they approved.
“I am glad to hear it,” one of the females said. “We are so happy to see that the Cybertronians have not completely lost their traditions during that terrible war.”
Swerve nodded. “There are some things worth fighting for.”
More agreement. More murmured talking among each other.
“It was nice to meet you, Minimus, but we won't keep you,” another of the Exelons said. “We simply had to make sure that everything was in its proper place legally. You understand?”
“Of course.” Minimus smiled and hoped it didn't show as strained as it felt. The question still stung, but Swerve's answer had eased it. “Swerve, would you like a drink?”
“Very much so.”
Swerve turned away from the staring Exelons perhaps a bit more quickly than was polite, but Minimus did not blame him in the slightest. He dipped his helm in acknowledgment and apology and guided Swerve away. It was almost alarming how natural it felt to slide an arm behind Swerve and rest his hand at the base of Swerve's spinal strut.
“Well, that was terrible and not at all fun,” Swerve said, vocals low enough not to be overheard, but audible to Minimus over the pulsing beat of the music.
“I suspect they are intelligent enough to realize that we were buying for time, and eager to catch us in a lie,” Minimus replied. He planted a smile on his lips just in case they were still watching. “Let us make sure we give them nothing but a happy couple.”
Swerve looked at him, a soft gleam in his visor. “Shouldn't be too hard. I enjoy being here with you.”
Minimus' spark warmed. “You are a good companion as well,” he said, and then audibly cleared his vocalizer, trying not to let himself get caught up in the moment.
Business, he had to remind himself. This was meant to be business.
He cast a gaze around the room. The dance floor took centerstage, but there were tables scattered all around the periphery. Servers floated through the crowd carrying trays loaded down with assorted drinks. Most of it was recognizable as engex but there were other things that he suspected were meant for the Exelons.
Minimus flagged down one such server and claimed a tiny drink for Swerve and himself, which they finished all too quickly. Minimus blamed it on anxiety. They both had it in spades.
There was a table in the corner, nice and private, so Minimus pressed a hand to Swerve's back and tried to guide him in that direction. They kept to the fringes, avoiding the crowd on the dance floor.
“Huh,” Swerve said. Minimus noticed that his gaze seemed locked on the dancers. “They kind of have an interesting dance, don't they?” There was a longing in his vocals that Minimus could not ignore.
Swerve wanted to dance. And Minimus could not bear to hear the longing without wanting to rectify it. Minimus certainly could dance, only fearing the mockery. But he also knew that Swerve wouldn't be bothered by his skill or lack thereof. Swerve would be pleased that they were dancing regardless.
“They do,” Minimus agreed, his palm rubbing a slow circle against Swerve's lower backplate. “Would you care to dance?”
Swerve's gaze whipped toward him in visible surprise. “You would? With me? I mean, you would dance with me?” he stammered.
Minimus allowed his field to stroke along the furthest edge of Swerve's, letting him read the interest and authenticity in it. “I would. If you're so inclined.”
“I am.” Swerve grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “Right now?”
A new song was gearing up, one paced so as to be quick, but not enough to tangle his feet. Minimus felt it was appropriate for the situation.
“Unless you'd rather place an order first?”
Swerve's answer was to beam and pull him onto the dance floor. He took a spot that was relatively clear of other dancers, but didn't put them dead center. There were other dancers around them, enough to hide them in the crowd.
“I'm not really all that thirsty. Or hungry,” he said.
Minimus managed to chuckle. He took Swerve's hand once they came to a rest, trying to get a feel for the beat. “Do you know any dances?”
Swerve's faceplate heated. “I was hoping you did.” His helm ducked as though embarrassed. “I've never, um, danced with someone else before.”
“Well, I have.” Minimus pulled Swerve into the first slow turn, still matching the beat, but at half-speed. “And if you'll allow me to lead, I think we can both enjoy ourselves.”
Swerve's hand squeezed his as he awkwardly tried to match Minimus' movements. “I have no problem with that,” he murmured, his field pressing against Minimus', ripe with joy and nervousness. He probably feared making a mistake.
“Just remember to relax. It doesn't matter to me how good you are,” Minimus said.
Some of the tension eased out of Swerve's movements. He smiled, frame moving better with the music.
It was pleasant. It was enjoyable. Swerve would misstep, grin sheepishly, and keep going. He didn't comment that Minimus moved stiffly or that he occasionally counted beats subvocally. He was simply content to share this dance. And then the one after that.
His face reflected his deep concentration and Minimus found it as charming as Swerve's smiles. Swerve's hands were warm, his field flush with joy.
One song became two and then three and then four, until Minimus couldn't remember exactly when they started dancing, only that he didn't want to stop. He forgot that the crew and the locals were watching. All of his attention was given to Swerve. The bartender's hands were respectable on Minimus' frame, and the music seemed to have swallowed both of them.
Their frames were pressed together, heat to heat. He could both feel and hear Swerve's ventilations. He was thoroughly enmeshed in Swerve's field, for once devoid of anxiety. Swerve's visor was a dim, soft blue. His frame radiated heat.
He was quite handsome, Minimus realized, when there was no self-consciousness to hold him back.
And then Swerve looked right at Minimus, vocals wavering, and asked, “Would it... I mean... could I kiss you? Would you mind?” he asked. Or hoped rather. Just like with the dancing, Minimus could hear how much Swerve yearned.
It was in the asking. It was always the asking that made Minimus and Magnus melt. It made his spark flutter and his ventilations hitch. Mechs took so many things for granted these days, and that request for permission floored Minimus every time.
“It's fine if you're not okay with it,” Swerve rushed to say, his gaze suddenly everywhere but on Minimus' face. “I know we only talked about the Ultra Magnus you. I'd just really like to kiss you right now, but I don't want to upset you.”
Minimus' own face warmed. He tried to redirect the heat, but it was impossible. He was touched to the very core of his spark.
“Yes,” he said, and his hand flexed on Swerve's lower back, encouraging the metallurgist closer to him. “Yes, you may.”
Swerve's optical band lit up with joy and it reflected in his field. He licked his lips, a touch of nervousness wisping through his field. He murmured something, thank you perhaps and then his mouth pressed to Minimus. His lips trembled as they pressed briefly against Minimus' own.
The kiss was soft, warm, and a touch damp. His oral vents scented of sweet energon. It did not last long enough for Minimus' liking.
He chased Swerve's retreating lips with his own, offering a second kiss and then a third. The press of their lips together sent a shiver of want down his spinal strut, one he couldn't have expected. It was different and nice and he couldn't remember the last time he had genuine, intimate contact as Minimus. His entire frame tingled. His cooling fans engaged, and the first touch of Swerve's glossa to his sent a jolt down Minimus' spinal strut.
A small sound rose from his vocalizer, the distant relation of a moan, and that was what broke the spell. At once, Minimus remembered their circumstances. They were on the dance floor, in view of dozens of their fellow crewmates and the Exelons.
Somewhere along the way, they had stopped dancing.
Minimus withdrew from the kiss reluctantly, only to see Swerve grinning with pure joy. It was near impossible to keep a straight face.
“Your, um, your facial insignia tickles,” Swerve said, face radiating a joyous heat. “It's cute.”
Minimus' spark throbbed within his chassis. “We should...” He paused to reboot his vocalizer, an unnecessary amount of static coloring his vocals. “We should go back to our seats. I'm a bit underfueled.”
Swerve leaned his forehelm against Minimus', his ex-vents a warm blast agains Minimus' armor. “Okay,” he said, almost breathy, like a soft submission. “Let's do that.”
Minimus drew away, unwrapping his arms from Swerve's frame, though his entire being seemed to be vibrating. He took Swerve's hands in his and towed Swerve back to their quiet corner, staunchly ignoring the optics staring their direction. He tucked them into the back of the booth and never once let go of Swerve's hands. Their fingers were tangled together and he rather liked the contact.
A server came by, depositing another set of drinks for them, the same as they'd chosen earlier. Funny how Minimus didn't want to reach for them just yet, that he liked having Swerve's fingers wrapping around his own.
“That was nice,” Swerve murmured as he nudged Minimus' drink closer to him. “Wasn't it?” His fingers squeezed Minimus'.
“Very nice,” Minimus agreed, the near-memory of them dancing playing over and over at the back of his helm, along with the taste of their kiss. He wanted to tilt back in toward Swerve and repeat it.
“I didn't think I would enjoy dancing but you proved me wrong. Thank you.”
Swerve beamed, frame leaning a bit closer, until they were pressed hip to hip, clasped hands between them. It was welcome contact, on their approved list, and Minimus reminded himself that it would be unacceptable to climb into Swerve's lap. Not only was it something they hadn't discussed, but for all Swerve knew, this was part of the act. He refused to mislead Swerve.
“I'm actually having fun,” Swerve admitted in a quieter voice. “I didn't think I would, you know, considering. I pretty much hated the other events but this one...” He looked down at Minimus' hand, his thumb stroking over Minimus' palm. “I'm enjoying this one.”
“I am as well,” Minimus said, surprising himself by how much he meant it. “We make a good team.”
Swerve's optical band caught his gaze, a genuine smile teasing his lips. “Yeah,” he said, “We do.”
Minimus' spark gave a little pang.
Oh, dear. He was in this deep.
“That was okay, right?” Swerve asked, his fingers flexing around Minimus' hand. “The kiss, I mean. I didn't--”
“It was fine,” Minimus was quick to reassure. He could read the uncertainty in Swerve's field as surely as it was in his own. “It was more than I expected, but I think that's what I can call everything since we landed on this planet.”
Swerve chuckled and leaned his head on Minimus' shoulder, also an acceptable contact. “Tell me about it.” His free hand snagged his engex and he sucked it down. “Could we, um, could we dance again?”
Minimus looked at Swerve and for the life of him, the only thing he wanted to do was say yes. So he did.
“Of course,” Minimus murmured. He was quick to finish his own drink. “Whenever you want.”
Swerve's smile could have powered the Lost Light for a week.
Minimus wondered if his own expression was filled with equal joy.
They danced several more times, until the dance floor gradually cleared and their obligations were met.
It was late before Swerve and Minimus were free to leave the party. A few Cybertronians remained, but they were ones Minimus was certain could take care of themselves. Even Rodimus had already left, though he was sober as he'd done so, much to Minimus' relief.
That didn't stop a very inebriated Rewind from calling out to them as they passed. Chromedome tried to shush him, but was too late to prevent the words from coming out.
Minimus' audials burned.
Swerve's faceplate heated and turned his visor to a soft pink.
“Facing is all everyone's talking about,” Swerve moaned with embarrassment. He buried his face behind his unoccupied hand.
“To be fair, that is what most couples do,” Minimus replied.
Genuine couples, he meant. It was something not on their list of approved physical contact.
Otherwise, the walk back to the Lost Light was rather peaceful. Minimus felt warmed by all the engex he'd consumed – not enough to get overcharged but enough to leave a pleasant sensation in his tanks. Or maybe the warmth was because of Swerve, their hands currently linked together as they walked. It was innocent physical contact but Minimus was hyper aware of it.
So many decades spent in the Magnus Armor left him sensitive to dermal contact as Minimus. He swore that his hand tingled where Swerve gripped it, his larger, thicker fingers easily encompassing Minimus' own.
It was a beautiful evening. Exelon Five's atmosphere was so clear, the stars were bright and visible. It was something you easily forgot to appreciate when you were up there, searching for something that might or might not exist.
“I really did have fun,” Swerve said. “I didn't expect to. The other events were really uncomfortable but this one wasn't.”
“I didn't use to like dancing,” Minimus admitted. He squeezed Swerve's hand and looked at him. “But you didn't complain once.”
Swerve chuckled. “To be fair, I'm pretty sure I was worse than you.”
“Well, I don't know about that.”
They shared a laugh. Minimus enjoyed it. He hadn't laughed much. Never as Ultra Magnus and not lately. The Lost Light had been through too many close calls for him to remember what good times were like.
Swerve's door came into sight. This was where they always parted ways, but suddenly, Minimus was reluctant to do so. And truly, for the sake of the ruse, wasn't it better if they were seen at least going into a room together? To put better truth to rumor? Because he didn't want to let go of Swerve's hand and walk away and lose the good energy that seemed to be zinging through his lines.
“This is me,” Swerve said as they stopped in front of his door.
Their hands remained clasped and Minimus reached for Swerve's other hand. He enjoyed the way their fingers knit together, the closeness of their frames. He liked how Swerve's field notched against his.
“A goodnight kiss would not be out of the question,” Minimus murmured, glossa flicking over his lips unconsciously. “That is, if you are not against it.”
“No!” Swerve's visor flared bright as he leaned toward Minimus. “I mean, no, I'm not against it. A goodnight kiss would be welcome.” He tilted his face down.
Minimus' ventilations stuttered. He tilted up toward Swerve, their lips brushing briefly together before once again, it was not enough. He pressed harder, lingering in the sensation of the kiss. Swerve's lips were warm against his just as they were earlier and his field was eager and willing.
“That was... that was nice,” Swerve said as they broke apart. “We should probably keep up the ruse, right? Want to, um, come inside?”
“Yes,” Minimus breathed before his reasoning chip could offer a second opinion. “Yes, I do.”
This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. This was good for the mission, but not for his peace of mind.
Yet Minimus voiced none of this as Swerve beamed and input his code into the panel, the door opening to admit them both.
This was such a bad idea.
But Minimus let Swerve take his hand and pull him inside.
****
Characters this chapter: Minimus Ambus, Swerve, Exelons, Rodimus
Rated K+ for this chapter
Swerve and Minimus go to the party and push the limits of their physical contact agreement.
Commission Gift Fic for nothumanafterall.
Mood Music/Soundtrack - "Dance With Me Tonight," Olly Murs
Marry Me – Chapter Ten
He waited outside Swerve's door, trying not to fidget, when it occurred to him that he probably should have warned Swerve that he'd be arriving as Minimus. That would have been the polite thing to do.
But then the door was sliding open and it was too late. Swerve blinked a tad bit down at him, surprise written into the initial flare of his energy field. Blessedly, however, there was no immediate disinterest.
“This is different,” Swerve said before a grin immediately curved his lips. Some of the tension visibly erased from his frame. “Not that I mind or anything, but no armor?”
Minimus shook his head. “No. It came to the Exelon's attention that my legal name was Minimus. They want to see proof.” He offered an arm to Swerve. At least at this height, it would be easier to walk together. “Hopefully, it's not too off-putting.”
“Not at all.” Swerve linked his arm with Minimus', their elbows interlocking. This close, it was all the more obvious that Swerve was slightly taller than him, but also made of more mass. “I like you no matter what form you take.”
“I...” Minimus cycled his optics, his field flushing with surprise and warmth. That was not what he had expected Swerve to say. “Thank you.”
“It's just the truth.” Swerve shrugged and tilted his head toward the hallway. “Don't we have a party to get to?”
“That we do.” Arm in arm, Minimus led them down the hall, his spark doing flips of joy at the casual comment Swerve had made.
I like you no matter what form you take.
He'd despaired of ever hearing those words. Once he'd donned the Magnus Armor, Minimus was supposed to have ceased to exist. No one cared about him before; what should it matter after? And yet here he was, Minimus Ambus, arm in arm with Swerve, on their way to a celebration in honor of their upcoming nuptials. It was both surreal and uncomfortable.
He was still not used to being himself, being Minimus. He couldn't shake the feeling that others were staring, Exelon and Cybertronian alike. He fought down the niggling worries, held his helm up high, and escorted Swerve to the event the Exelons had arranged. It didn't matter that Swerve was taller than him now. Minimus had grown fond of placing his hand on Swerve's back and Swerve seemed to enjoy it as well.
There were less present than Minimus would have expected. It wasn't as formal as the prior event, but not as casual as the first either. There was dim lighting and shining decorations. There were light refreshments, tiny selections of goodies and teasers and teensy vials of flavored engex.
He saw no few familiar faces, including Perceptor once more, chatting it up with a few Exelons. Hopefully, he was getting closer to understanding their technology. Hopefully, after tonight, they would have all the answers they needed to save Rodimus and get the frag off the planet and Minimus could sit down with Swerve and truly talk.
The meaning of the human phrase 'fingers crossed' came to mind.
What Minimus noticed most of all was the band and the rather large, open dance floor. One that Rodimus was taking full advantage of and gathering no few admirers. He freely danced with anyone who came sashaying his direction and suddenly Minimus understood the purpose behind the design of Rodimus' hips.
Music and dancing. Primus help them all.
Minimus knew how to dance. He'd been formally trained. He simply wasn't very good at it. Previous partners claimed he was too stiff. That he didn't know how to relax into the beat. And perhaps they were right.
He'd given up after that. And as for Ultra Magnus? Well, the armor wasn't meant to dance. Ultra Magnus wasn't meant to be fun. He was meant to be the stern, law-abiding Autobot who served as an example to everyone.
“Minimus!”
He startled at the sound of his name being shouted over the sound of conversation and music.
Rodimus noticed them as though he had some kind of homing beacon keyed in to his second in command. He abandoned his dance partner with an apologetic smile. He pushed through the crowd, bouncing their direction, and Minimus did not fail to notice that Swerve flinched a little.
It was hard not to flinch when that much charisma came bounding toward you. Rodimus was a force to be reckoned with.
“About time you got here,” Rodimus was saying as he skidded to a stop in front of them, clasping them each on a shoulder. “The Exelon dignitaries have been asking about you. I've been stalling them by showing off my rad dance moves.”
“I guess we should be grateful then,” Minimus drawled, but the sarcasm was lost on Rodimus.
The co-captain beamed at both of them like a proud caretaker. “Well, I am that good. Come on. Let's go.”
He circled around the couple and planted his hands on their shoulders once again, steering them toward one of the walls and a visible group of Exelons. Swerve tensed further and Minimus made it a point to rub his back. He tried to project calm into his field.
“Do we have to?” Swerve mock-whispered.
Minimus managed a tight smile. “Unfortunately so.” Luckily, he recognized most of the Exelons. They were the same faces that continued to snoop around Magnus and Swerve as though determined to sniff out the lie. “It is part of the game.”
Rodimus' hand's squeezed their shoulders as though reminding them to behave properly. As if Minimus needed the reminder.
“Ladies, Gentlemen, whatever your preferred address, I've brought the happy couple,” Rodimus declared with a broad gesture before he all but shoved Swerve and Minimus toward them. “You know Swerve, of course, but the shorter one here is Minimus Ambus, the mech behind the armor.”
“We are pleased to make your acquaintance,” one of the Exelons said, her accent thicker than all the others. “Is it common for Cybertronians to wear an outer shell?”
Minimus patted Swerve's back soothingly as Rodimus vanished, no doubt back into the crowd to dance to his spark's content. And hopefully continue to provide a distraction. So long as he wasn't here accidentally stamping on their traditions.
“No,” Minimus answered with a forced, pleasant smile. “My position was unique. I fulfilled a role that required me to wear the armor. I am a special case.”
“How intriguing.”
“You don't mind that he is essentially a lie?”
Well, that was a rather rude and pointed question. Minimus' optics cycled wider in surprise. He would not have expected such discourtesy from the Exelons. Perhaps they were getting desperate.
Swerve cycled his vocalizer. “Magnus and Minimus are the same to me,” he said, and he gave Minimus a nervous smile, his lips trembling but his optics honest. “I don't care what frame he takes.”
“That's very sweet,” the tax advisor – Minimus certainly remembered her – said. “If only others could think the same. It is important to accept others for who they are.”
Agreement flickered through her compatriots.
“Which form will you take for the wedding?” another asked.
Minimus exchanged a glance with Swerve.
“Whichever makes you more comfortable,” Swerve said with a smile. Yet another perfect answer.
“I am, at spark, Minimus Ambus,” he answered and leaned against Swerve, relieved as Swerve leaned back into him. It felt like support. “And that is who I want to be when I promise my spark to Swerve.”
Judging by the way the Exelons looked at each other, they approved.
“I am glad to hear it,” one of the females said. “We are so happy to see that the Cybertronians have not completely lost their traditions during that terrible war.”
Swerve nodded. “There are some things worth fighting for.”
More agreement. More murmured talking among each other.
“It was nice to meet you, Minimus, but we won't keep you,” another of the Exelons said. “We simply had to make sure that everything was in its proper place legally. You understand?”
“Of course.” Minimus smiled and hoped it didn't show as strained as it felt. The question still stung, but Swerve's answer had eased it. “Swerve, would you like a drink?”
“Very much so.”
Swerve turned away from the staring Exelons perhaps a bit more quickly than was polite, but Minimus did not blame him in the slightest. He dipped his helm in acknowledgment and apology and guided Swerve away. It was almost alarming how natural it felt to slide an arm behind Swerve and rest his hand at the base of Swerve's spinal strut.
“Well, that was terrible and not at all fun,” Swerve said, vocals low enough not to be overheard, but audible to Minimus over the pulsing beat of the music.
“I suspect they are intelligent enough to realize that we were buying for time, and eager to catch us in a lie,” Minimus replied. He planted a smile on his lips just in case they were still watching. “Let us make sure we give them nothing but a happy couple.”
Swerve looked at him, a soft gleam in his visor. “Shouldn't be too hard. I enjoy being here with you.”
Minimus' spark warmed. “You are a good companion as well,” he said, and then audibly cleared his vocalizer, trying not to let himself get caught up in the moment.
Business, he had to remind himself. This was meant to be business.
He cast a gaze around the room. The dance floor took centerstage, but there were tables scattered all around the periphery. Servers floated through the crowd carrying trays loaded down with assorted drinks. Most of it was recognizable as engex but there were other things that he suspected were meant for the Exelons.
Minimus flagged down one such server and claimed a tiny drink for Swerve and himself, which they finished all too quickly. Minimus blamed it on anxiety. They both had it in spades.
There was a table in the corner, nice and private, so Minimus pressed a hand to Swerve's back and tried to guide him in that direction. They kept to the fringes, avoiding the crowd on the dance floor.
“Huh,” Swerve said. Minimus noticed that his gaze seemed locked on the dancers. “They kind of have an interesting dance, don't they?” There was a longing in his vocals that Minimus could not ignore.
Swerve wanted to dance. And Minimus could not bear to hear the longing without wanting to rectify it. Minimus certainly could dance, only fearing the mockery. But he also knew that Swerve wouldn't be bothered by his skill or lack thereof. Swerve would be pleased that they were dancing regardless.
“They do,” Minimus agreed, his palm rubbing a slow circle against Swerve's lower backplate. “Would you care to dance?”
Swerve's gaze whipped toward him in visible surprise. “You would? With me? I mean, you would dance with me?” he stammered.
Minimus allowed his field to stroke along the furthest edge of Swerve's, letting him read the interest and authenticity in it. “I would. If you're so inclined.”
“I am.” Swerve grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “Right now?”
A new song was gearing up, one paced so as to be quick, but not enough to tangle his feet. Minimus felt it was appropriate for the situation.
“Unless you'd rather place an order first?”
Swerve's answer was to beam and pull him onto the dance floor. He took a spot that was relatively clear of other dancers, but didn't put them dead center. There were other dancers around them, enough to hide them in the crowd.
“I'm not really all that thirsty. Or hungry,” he said.
Minimus managed to chuckle. He took Swerve's hand once they came to a rest, trying to get a feel for the beat. “Do you know any dances?”
Swerve's faceplate heated. “I was hoping you did.” His helm ducked as though embarrassed. “I've never, um, danced with someone else before.”
“Well, I have.” Minimus pulled Swerve into the first slow turn, still matching the beat, but at half-speed. “And if you'll allow me to lead, I think we can both enjoy ourselves.”
Swerve's hand squeezed his as he awkwardly tried to match Minimus' movements. “I have no problem with that,” he murmured, his field pressing against Minimus', ripe with joy and nervousness. He probably feared making a mistake.
“Just remember to relax. It doesn't matter to me how good you are,” Minimus said.
Some of the tension eased out of Swerve's movements. He smiled, frame moving better with the music.
It was pleasant. It was enjoyable. Swerve would misstep, grin sheepishly, and keep going. He didn't comment that Minimus moved stiffly or that he occasionally counted beats subvocally. He was simply content to share this dance. And then the one after that.
His face reflected his deep concentration and Minimus found it as charming as Swerve's smiles. Swerve's hands were warm, his field flush with joy.
One song became two and then three and then four, until Minimus couldn't remember exactly when they started dancing, only that he didn't want to stop. He forgot that the crew and the locals were watching. All of his attention was given to Swerve. The bartender's hands were respectable on Minimus' frame, and the music seemed to have swallowed both of them.
Their frames were pressed together, heat to heat. He could both feel and hear Swerve's ventilations. He was thoroughly enmeshed in Swerve's field, for once devoid of anxiety. Swerve's visor was a dim, soft blue. His frame radiated heat.
He was quite handsome, Minimus realized, when there was no self-consciousness to hold him back.
And then Swerve looked right at Minimus, vocals wavering, and asked, “Would it... I mean... could I kiss you? Would you mind?” he asked. Or hoped rather. Just like with the dancing, Minimus could hear how much Swerve yearned.
It was in the asking. It was always the asking that made Minimus and Magnus melt. It made his spark flutter and his ventilations hitch. Mechs took so many things for granted these days, and that request for permission floored Minimus every time.
“It's fine if you're not okay with it,” Swerve rushed to say, his gaze suddenly everywhere but on Minimus' face. “I know we only talked about the Ultra Magnus you. I'd just really like to kiss you right now, but I don't want to upset you.”
Minimus' own face warmed. He tried to redirect the heat, but it was impossible. He was touched to the very core of his spark.
“Yes,” he said, and his hand flexed on Swerve's lower back, encouraging the metallurgist closer to him. “Yes, you may.”
Swerve's optical band lit up with joy and it reflected in his field. He licked his lips, a touch of nervousness wisping through his field. He murmured something, thank you perhaps and then his mouth pressed to Minimus. His lips trembled as they pressed briefly against Minimus' own.
The kiss was soft, warm, and a touch damp. His oral vents scented of sweet energon. It did not last long enough for Minimus' liking.
He chased Swerve's retreating lips with his own, offering a second kiss and then a third. The press of their lips together sent a shiver of want down his spinal strut, one he couldn't have expected. It was different and nice and he couldn't remember the last time he had genuine, intimate contact as Minimus. His entire frame tingled. His cooling fans engaged, and the first touch of Swerve's glossa to his sent a jolt down Minimus' spinal strut.
A small sound rose from his vocalizer, the distant relation of a moan, and that was what broke the spell. At once, Minimus remembered their circumstances. They were on the dance floor, in view of dozens of their fellow crewmates and the Exelons.
Somewhere along the way, they had stopped dancing.
Minimus withdrew from the kiss reluctantly, only to see Swerve grinning with pure joy. It was near impossible to keep a straight face.
“Your, um, your facial insignia tickles,” Swerve said, face radiating a joyous heat. “It's cute.”
Minimus' spark throbbed within his chassis. “We should...” He paused to reboot his vocalizer, an unnecessary amount of static coloring his vocals. “We should go back to our seats. I'm a bit underfueled.”
Swerve leaned his forehelm against Minimus', his ex-vents a warm blast agains Minimus' armor. “Okay,” he said, almost breathy, like a soft submission. “Let's do that.”
Minimus drew away, unwrapping his arms from Swerve's frame, though his entire being seemed to be vibrating. He took Swerve's hands in his and towed Swerve back to their quiet corner, staunchly ignoring the optics staring their direction. He tucked them into the back of the booth and never once let go of Swerve's hands. Their fingers were tangled together and he rather liked the contact.
A server came by, depositing another set of drinks for them, the same as they'd chosen earlier. Funny how Minimus didn't want to reach for them just yet, that he liked having Swerve's fingers wrapping around his own.
“That was nice,” Swerve murmured as he nudged Minimus' drink closer to him. “Wasn't it?” His fingers squeezed Minimus'.
“Very nice,” Minimus agreed, the near-memory of them dancing playing over and over at the back of his helm, along with the taste of their kiss. He wanted to tilt back in toward Swerve and repeat it.
“I didn't think I would enjoy dancing but you proved me wrong. Thank you.”
Swerve beamed, frame leaning a bit closer, until they were pressed hip to hip, clasped hands between them. It was welcome contact, on their approved list, and Minimus reminded himself that it would be unacceptable to climb into Swerve's lap. Not only was it something they hadn't discussed, but for all Swerve knew, this was part of the act. He refused to mislead Swerve.
“I'm actually having fun,” Swerve admitted in a quieter voice. “I didn't think I would, you know, considering. I pretty much hated the other events but this one...” He looked down at Minimus' hand, his thumb stroking over Minimus' palm. “I'm enjoying this one.”
“I am as well,” Minimus said, surprising himself by how much he meant it. “We make a good team.”
Swerve's optical band caught his gaze, a genuine smile teasing his lips. “Yeah,” he said, “We do.”
Minimus' spark gave a little pang.
Oh, dear. He was in this deep.
“That was okay, right?” Swerve asked, his fingers flexing around Minimus' hand. “The kiss, I mean. I didn't--”
“It was fine,” Minimus was quick to reassure. He could read the uncertainty in Swerve's field as surely as it was in his own. “It was more than I expected, but I think that's what I can call everything since we landed on this planet.”
Swerve chuckled and leaned his head on Minimus' shoulder, also an acceptable contact. “Tell me about it.” His free hand snagged his engex and he sucked it down. “Could we, um, could we dance again?”
Minimus looked at Swerve and for the life of him, the only thing he wanted to do was say yes. So he did.
“Of course,” Minimus murmured. He was quick to finish his own drink. “Whenever you want.”
Swerve's smile could have powered the Lost Light for a week.
Minimus wondered if his own expression was filled with equal joy.
They danced several more times, until the dance floor gradually cleared and their obligations were met.
It was late before Swerve and Minimus were free to leave the party. A few Cybertronians remained, but they were ones Minimus was certain could take care of themselves. Even Rodimus had already left, though he was sober as he'd done so, much to Minimus' relief.
That didn't stop a very inebriated Rewind from calling out to them as they passed. Chromedome tried to shush him, but was too late to prevent the words from coming out.
Minimus' audials burned.
Swerve's faceplate heated and turned his visor to a soft pink.
“Facing is all everyone's talking about,” Swerve moaned with embarrassment. He buried his face behind his unoccupied hand.
“To be fair, that is what most couples do,” Minimus replied.
Genuine couples, he meant. It was something not on their list of approved physical contact.
Otherwise, the walk back to the Lost Light was rather peaceful. Minimus felt warmed by all the engex he'd consumed – not enough to get overcharged but enough to leave a pleasant sensation in his tanks. Or maybe the warmth was because of Swerve, their hands currently linked together as they walked. It was innocent physical contact but Minimus was hyper aware of it.
So many decades spent in the Magnus Armor left him sensitive to dermal contact as Minimus. He swore that his hand tingled where Swerve gripped it, his larger, thicker fingers easily encompassing Minimus' own.
It was a beautiful evening. Exelon Five's atmosphere was so clear, the stars were bright and visible. It was something you easily forgot to appreciate when you were up there, searching for something that might or might not exist.
“I really did have fun,” Swerve said. “I didn't expect to. The other events were really uncomfortable but this one wasn't.”
“I didn't use to like dancing,” Minimus admitted. He squeezed Swerve's hand and looked at him. “But you didn't complain once.”
Swerve chuckled. “To be fair, I'm pretty sure I was worse than you.”
“Well, I don't know about that.”
They shared a laugh. Minimus enjoyed it. He hadn't laughed much. Never as Ultra Magnus and not lately. The Lost Light had been through too many close calls for him to remember what good times were like.
Swerve's door came into sight. This was where they always parted ways, but suddenly, Minimus was reluctant to do so. And truly, for the sake of the ruse, wasn't it better if they were seen at least going into a room together? To put better truth to rumor? Because he didn't want to let go of Swerve's hand and walk away and lose the good energy that seemed to be zinging through his lines.
“This is me,” Swerve said as they stopped in front of his door.
Their hands remained clasped and Minimus reached for Swerve's other hand. He enjoyed the way their fingers knit together, the closeness of their frames. He liked how Swerve's field notched against his.
“A goodnight kiss would not be out of the question,” Minimus murmured, glossa flicking over his lips unconsciously. “That is, if you are not against it.”
“No!” Swerve's visor flared bright as he leaned toward Minimus. “I mean, no, I'm not against it. A goodnight kiss would be welcome.” He tilted his face down.
Minimus' ventilations stuttered. He tilted up toward Swerve, their lips brushing briefly together before once again, it was not enough. He pressed harder, lingering in the sensation of the kiss. Swerve's lips were warm against his just as they were earlier and his field was eager and willing.
“That was... that was nice,” Swerve said as they broke apart. “We should probably keep up the ruse, right? Want to, um, come inside?”
“Yes,” Minimus breathed before his reasoning chip could offer a second opinion. “Yes, I do.”
This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. This was good for the mission, but not for his peace of mind.
Yet Minimus voiced none of this as Swerve beamed and input his code into the panel, the door opening to admit them both.
This was such a bad idea.
But Minimus let Swerve take his hand and pull him inside.
a/n: Evil author is evil for that fade to black. ^_^
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.